They collided with troops to the rear, confusion ensued, and dozens went down. The force commander not only ordered his soldiers to face the enemy, but even went so far as to wade into the mob and shoot two of the retreating troopers. But, rather than restore order as he hoped the punitive measure would, the summary executions caused one of the fear-crazed troopers to shoot Ofay in the face. The projectile blew the back of the force commander’s skull out, sprayed blood and brains all over those behind him, and brought Ofay’s dreams of glory to an abrupt end.
All constraints having been removed, the badly panicked Ramanthians attempted to fl?ee west. But that was a mistake, because while Ofay’s attention was focused on the enemy ahead, Alpha Company had closed in behind them. That, ironically enough, was the fate that General Akoto wanted to impose on the allies.
While Santana didn’t have thirty-six T-2s to work with, there was no need to charge, not so long as the bugs were coming toward him. And he had a quad, which having already settled over its vulnerable legs, was positioned in the middle of the road with walls of T-2s and bio bods to either side. All of whom opened fi?re simultaneously. Even as the chits sought to fl?ee Kobbi and his cyborgs, they were cut to pieces by the force behind them and died in waves. Some staggered like marionettes with palsy as bullets tugged at their bodies. Others were ripped apart by the grenades that Hoyt and her CVAs fi?red from behind the legionnaires and marines. And dozens appeared to melt as bolts of iridescent blue energy plowed bloody holes through the Ramanthian ranks. The only problem was the need to keep their fi?re down, and on target, lest Alpha Company kill members of Kobbi’s force farther up the road. The slaughter forced the bugs to turn again and run the other way, only to suffer the same fate all over again. That’s where Quinlan was, right in the thick of it, killing yet another bug for his daughter, when one of the winged scouts landed on his back and went in for the kill. The bug knew he was going to die as he reached forward to jerk the animal’s helmet back, but that was fi?ne, so long as he could take a human with him. Quinlan was reaching back over his shoulders, trying to get a grip on whatever had attached itself to his back, when he saw the sudden fl?ash of steel. That was followed by a burning sensation, an explosion of blood, and a moment of dizziness. Then he was gone.
Kobbi, who was only a dozen feet away, saw the whole thing. He fi?red a long burst from his CA-10 into the Ramanthian and had the satisfaction of seeing the soldier fall away. But it was too late to save Quinlan, who hung lifeless in his harness, as his blood-drenched cyborg continued to fi?ght.
It wasn’t until fi?fteen minutes later, when all of the killing was over, that the general could dismount and walk over to the place where Quinlan’s body had been laid next to the road. Some sort of epitaph was required, or so it seemed to Kobbi, as he knelt next to the dead legionnaire. “You weren’t the smartest offi?cer I ever served with,” the general said gruffl?y. “Or even the most dedicated. But you died like a man. Like a legionnaire—of whom all can be proud.” And that, coming from General Mortimer Kobbi, was high praise indeed.
17
To illustrate this part somewhat, I shall say that the privileged class may be one of two sorts; either they conduct themselves in such a way as to be under your obligation or not. Those who are, and are not rapacious, must be honored and cherished. Those who are not so bound to you may be of two sorts; either they act as they do out of pusillanimity or natural lack of spirit and in such cases you must use them, especially such as are of good counsel, since in prosperity they do you honor and in adversity you have naught to fear from them; but when they are of the second kind and deliberately refuse to be dependent on you, for their own scheming and ambitious reasons then you may be sure they are thinking more of themselves than you, and a prince should be very wary of such and regard them as open enemies. . . .
The Prince
PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Hive was perfect. Or so it seemed to Chancellor Ubatha as a government transport carried him over beautifully sunlit fi?elds toward a meeting approximately two hundred miles south of the capital city. Thanks to hundreds of years of hard work, and the fact that all of the Ramanthian power plants, factories, and cities were located underground, the planet’s surface was equivalent to an enormous work of art. Rivers had the more-disciplined look of canals, thousands of fruit trees stood in carefully pruned ranks, and well-watered crop circles were thick with green vegetables. All of which stood in marked contrast to what Ubatha had seen on worlds like Earth, where citizens were allowed to rip the surface asunder, pollute the air, and export their garbage into space. It was just one more example of why Ramanthian culture was superior to all the rest.
But as the transport’s shadow caressed the well-manicured terrain below, the bureaucrat knew there were other things to focus on, not the least of which was the meeting in which he was about to participate. Given the offi?cial’s rank, second only to the Queen, most of his days were spent in meetings—
some of which were productive while many weren’t. The trick was to maximize the former and minimize the latter. A fairly straightforward process for the most part. There was a third category of meetings, however: those that could be dangerous regardless of how productive they might or might not be. While participating in such gatherings might be perilous, it was equally dangerous to ignore them, which was why Ubatha had profound misgivings about the get-together that ex-Governor Oma Parth was hosting. Though billed as nothing more than “a gathering of old friends,” it was clearly more than that, because every person on the guest list other than Ubatha had one thing in common: Prior to the Hive Mother’s regrettable death, the invitees had been high-ranking government offi?cials or senior military offi?cers who had been pushed out of their jobs within weeks of the current Queen’s elaborate coronation. Even though it was an entirely normal part of the succession process, the displacements could still generate resentment. That was where the danger came in. Odds were that the gathering was nothing more than an opportunity for disgruntled retirees to get together and talk about the extent to which they had been abused. If so, Ubatha would have to sit and sympathize.
Or, the gathering could represent something a good deal darker. In the aftermath of the wound suffered on Earth, the Queen was still unable to move her body from the neck down. The condition in no way weakened the strength of her intellect, but put very real limits on what she could accomplish, and made her vulnerable in ways she hadn’t been before. That was why Ubatha had agreed to participate in the meeting. He needed to fi?nd out what the other attendees were up to—and take action against them should any be necessary.
As the transport circled Parth’s immaculately kept country estate, and came in for a landing, Ubatha had plenty to think about—starting with the fact that half a dozen other aircraft were already on the ground in spite of the fact he was early! Being a seasoned politician Ubatha knew the presence of so many transports could imply that a premeeting was already under way. If so, it meant that there were matters the other attendees didn’t want to discuss in front of him. Still, given that Ubatha was there by invitation, there was no reason to believe that the
